the net we call life's dreams
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Life was a complex mesh of threads that somehow managed so many combinations at once, it seemed like nothing was unbelieveable in it.
1. 1

**A/N:** Written for the Snakes and Ladders in Wonderland Challenge. The square I landed on this time was "poetry novel".

* * *

><p><strong>the net we call life's dreams<br>/1/**

Life was, in the end, but a dream:  
>a complex mix of threads that could be<br>tied together, and then undone  
>and rewoven into new patterns, new cords<br>and the net that slowly formed under them  
>was a mix of all of those possibilities<p>

And in that realm there was no such thing  
>as the impossible.<br>The dead were not necessarily dead  
>and gone; the living weren't always<br>what they seemed.

Many a thing walked upon those snow-covered  
>roads: during the day, and at night –<br>a path carved by many memories  
>both made and most:<p>

The feelings of the heart  
>searching for the truth<br>of that dream.


	2. 2

**the net we call life's dreams  
>2/**

Maybe it was fate pushing him that way,  
>trying to bring the frayed ends of strings<br>back together – those memories that remained  
>locked away<p>

But the truth was he didn't want to remember,  
>or so he said, what had happened there before,<br>hidden in the darkness tied by all those threads

Because there must be a reason those threads frayed,  
>tried to break, why he'd never wanted to go back…<br>except now there was no choice,  
>and whatever truth slumbered beneath those threads:<br>that part of his life,  
>he would come across it again, wandering<br>through snow-filled streets laced with yellow lamps  
>and the footprints left behind by snow boots<br>and a lost, searching soul he found his paths crossing with  
>time and time again…<p>

But, before that, there was another girl  
>who finds him, dusted heavily<br>with falling snow.


	3. 3

**the net we call life's dreams  
>3/**

He waited on the bench for her: the guide  
>who would take him away from that uncomfortable feeling<br>and both familiarity and unfamiliarity in one

Because that was just where she stood now  
>that this wall of lost memories and passed time<br>had come between  
>whatever closer relationship they'd shared<br>in the past before those times  
>had been swept away under confusion<br>and tangled threads leaving behind the confusing mix  
>called his current life<p>

But he could already feel those threads  
>beginning to unfurl, and part of him was fine to wait<br>for the snow to bury it all

But suddenly she was there, sweeping the dust of snow  
>from his head with a strong, glowing hand<br>and the dormant threads were sparking like live-wires again:  
>alive once more, untangling and retying, searching,<br>for their other parts.


	4. 4

**the net we call life's dreams  
>4/**

The home was vaguely familiar, just as it should have been  
>for the long absence he'd had had<br>from it. The things he'd brought with him seemed more familiar  
>since they were his: the things that had filled his memories<br>since that tangled mess of strings had been left behind

And it was a smooth stretch of strings, after that knot  
>that faded further and further into the past<br>as the future unfolded

But there was a vague familiarity in one box in particular,  
>one item: a headband he didn't know why<br>he would have seen before, let alone owned

And it wasn't his cousin's either, dropped  
>in her excitement to bundle about<p>

So where had it come from, he wondered?  
>Why had he brought it to this memory-forsaken town<br>that lay covered under snow and tangled knots?  
>Why was he even setting it down<br>near his head, to ponder on those questions  
>while he slept?<p> 


	5. 5

**the net we call life's dreams  
>5/**

He slept that night tangled in the knots of that time  
>he'd hidden from his mind: tossed into slivers<br>barely reformed, the scraped of all those frayed ends  
>he'd cast to the wind long ago…<p>

But somehow they'd reached out to the stars  
>and become cold and lonely and wet<br>like a little cat cast out with only a newspaper page  
>to support her.<br>And then those little wisps of life and memories  
>that had been cleaved away by forgetfulness<br>and time… Those memories he'd buried away,  
>trying to form and make themselves known<br>once again…

But did he really want to remember? Could he even  
>when he still didn't know why he'd forgotten<br>or what reluctance stirred in him when he thought  
>about whether or not to remember<br>or whether he even wanted  
>to remember…<p>

But those memories had started to stir restlessly  
>either way, in the shapes of dreams.<p> 


	6. 6

**the net we call life's dreams  
>6/**

He awoke the next morning dazed and confused  
>and un-remembering: the trinket tugging at the frayed end<br>of those memory strings was still there, but it offered no more  
>answers than before: that previous night of bewilderment<br>and initial surprise, when that shining red thing had parted  
>from grey and brown…<p>

But it was quickly swept away from his mind  
>as the day went on: a cold, uncomfortable day<br>that nonetheless planted tendrils of warmth  
>within: like waiting for his cousin in the snow<br>like he'd do in the past, and the echoes of memories  
>that came with, and that girl knocking him off his feet<br>and into the cold, a dot of warmth  
>on his chest –<p>

But then the girl is taking him by hand and fleeing  
>and he runs along with her, swept off his feet and bearings<br>but somehow thinking it's not so unusual after all  
>and that, maybe, he doesn't mind it much either.<p> 


	7. 7

**the net we call life's dreams  
>7/**

He thinks about her a lot, even after  
>that fleeting meeting of theirs is done, because<br>he can't brush off that feeling: that familiarity,  
>nor that aching pang in his chest, that claims<br>he knows that girl from somewhere –

But his memory of that time is still scraps  
>of frayed thread drifting down in the snow,<br>and there is too much useless snow: empty crystals  
>of ice that hold no secrets or answers with them inside,<br>just the cold…

But there are those precious few that do have something more:  
>a whisper of a memory long torn to pieces and gone<br>but thread was good that way: it broke into pieces but still existed,  
>fine, fine threads that could come together a different way,<br>weaker…or perhaps stronger, than before.

He knows of her from before, he is sure  
>and he'll find that answer eventually, through more meetings<br>despite how unlikely that is, or through dreams  
>of returning memories…<br>but now the sleeping fox has been awakened  
>and he cannot pretend he doesn't want to know<br>anymore.


	8. 8

**the net we call life's dreams  
>8/**

The next night he dreams a little more, then a little more again  
>and slowly the dream starts to grow,<br>though no more sensible, no more memorable –  
>they are still dreams to him, filled with confusion<br>and as slippery as the water that comes  
>from melting snow<p>

And though he gets used to the cold and the dreams  
>as so long ago the aching hole in his heart<br>and memories  
>he wonders: why were all those things as they were?<br>What had he forgotten? Why had he wanted  
>so desperately to forget?<p>

How could he even _be_ so desperate…  
>but then time went on, and he saw other people, learnt of them<br>and through that he began to understand  
>that desperation: the sort of thing that could kill<br>or bring back to life, or make a sweet little girl  
>pick up a knife or blade for more than sport…<p>

It looked like such an innocent world from the outside,  
>peaceful, innocent for kids like them –<br>but already they'd seen things  
>they'd rather forget<p>

And maybe he really did forget.


	9. 9

**the net we call life's dreams  
>9/**

He met a girl not much younger than he  
>who was dying, under a tree<br>and showered in snow more thick  
>than he, who so hated snow,<br>had ever been.

She was not much younger than him  
>at all, and all she said that day was that<br>she was sick: a simple flu  
>that would go away with time<br>or, if nothing else, when the snow  
>and winter fled, and spring came…<p>

But the pieces began to form,  
>and the puzzle became clearer<br>day by day: that little shadow under  
>the trees in the school, looking up<br>at their classroom like the gaze  
>of someone who might never see more<br>again…

And how another, who seemed so tightly linked  
>claimed not, claimed there was nothing there<br>at all, even if the bonds were far stronger  
>than these frayed threads that he carried<br>along with him –

But eventually it all came together: people confessed,  
>tales were told and some peace, buried under all those knots<br>was freed, and found

And in the end there was a miracle to be had: she didn't die  
>and they could live on, together, like they'd always dreamed<br>and dreaded wouldn't pass

And if that other girl had continued running away  
>that opportunity would have been gone: she'd have regretted it<br>forever, or perhaps she would just have forgot  
>like she lied<p>

But maybe he had done something like that:  
>forgetting a reality that hadn't yet come to pass<br>but he still couldn't face.

Or maybe the tragedy had already occurred…  
>At that time, he still remembered far too little to know.<p> 


	10. 10

**the net we call life's dreams  
>10/**

He met a little fox long ago, though it took him a long time  
>to remember the echo of that fuzzy little form<br>in his arms. And maybe that's why the girl who rushes at him  
>on the streets was so mad – even though she couldn't remember<br>anything else at all she remembered him, being mad…

It took him a long time to piece it together, and he might never have  
>if it hadn't been for that mysterious girl who'd appeared<br>and talked about those fox tales…

But now it made so much sense, and too soon: she began to fall  
>and he had to watch her day by day, growing weaker,<br>unable to help, unable to do anything but stay…

Except that's not true; there was more he could do,  
>and in the end he understood, and followed her small gesture<br>and his heart: to take her back to the hill he'd found her at  
>before, where she could return to her original being<p>

And even though he didn't want her to go he knew she had to  
>otherwise she would have just dwindled further, suffered more –<br>and he didn't want her to suffer, not at all,  
>despite how he'd seen her as a pest that first time on the streets<br>when she fell.


	11. 11

**the net we call life's dreams  
>11/**

He also met another girl, who stood in the darkness of the school at night  
>with a sword. She said her task was to drive away the monsters that came<br>but it always seemed to bounce back  
>to her<p>

And it took him a long time to see that as well, see that those monsters  
>were not appearing out of nowhere, but from her,<br>and that all of them were because of her loneliness, her fear  
>despite those who struggled to stand<br>by her side

But there were people who stood by her side  
>and that was what counted, what saved her,<br>what made her put down her sword  
>and smile…<p>

And maybe those two could have done all that  
>without meeting him: he felt himself a witness<br>who snuck out late at night to see her in the dark in school  
>with a sweet little something as a snack<br>and nothing more.


	12. 12

**the net we call life's dreams  
>12/**

In the end, he'd met a lot of girls  
>but there was one very close<br>he'd ignored, and he only realised that  
>when his memories returned, when those complex knots<br>had untangled themselves and the frayed ends  
>had found their mates once more…<p>

And he regretted that, but it was a hole  
>he couldn't fix, not now<br>after he'd pushed her away so hard –

And honestly, the little matter of her feelings for him  
>made things all the more complicated result.<br>He wanted to just leave it behind again,  
>run away, after those memories came back<br>and the ghost that had been searching with snow boots  
>in the snow, had faded without another trace…<p>

He thought, maybe, that he could let go of all those strings  
>again, now that they weren't tangled up…<p>

But there was a knot still there, now buried under the untied  
>and when it comes to light it's quickly unravelled<br>and the whole picture, that past he'd run away from  
>was restored.<p> 


End file.
